The Undoing of Arthur Kirkland
by silverspark7x
Summary: Alfred F. Jones knows better than to be sentimental, seeing that he specializes in destroying people's lives- that is, if you consider them to even have lives once he's through with them. Still, one patient leaves a more striking impression than most. Oneshot, inspired by Unwind. Romantic elements, though they're not the focus. First attempt at sci-fi / horror!


**A/N So, I wrote this story a while back and finally decided to upload it! It's inspired by Neal Schusterman's ****_Unwind_****. which is an awesome book. Also, I don't know why I was suddenly inspired to write a horror-type thing with America and England. Really, no idea.**

**Apologies**** for the OOCness! I had trouble keeping this IC, which is something I need to work on. **

It was about four in the afternoon when Alfred saw him. To be honest, he wasn't certain about the exact time; there was no way of knowing inside the cold, hash hospital surrounded by steel walls, which blocked out out the light and warmth of the sun. The only sound was the gentle whirl of surgical instruments and muffled footsteps on the shiny marble floor, echoing throughout the large room.

"Got another one." Gilbert said. He was holding a young boy by the arm, who had a scowl on his face.

"Holler if he gives you any problems." Ludwig added, eyes as cold and stony as usual.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I know the drill."

With a nod, the two German brothers left the room. Alfred waited for the slam of the door before turning to face the boy.

He was a bit on the scrawny side, and couldn't have been any older than blonde hair hung into his face and partially obscured his eyes, which were a vibrant, almost poisonous green. The leather of his black boots squeaked slightly as he turned to face Alfred, and he noticed his ripped skinny jeans and form fitting black tank top.

There was a moment of silence until Alfred gestured to the examination table in the center of the room. "You can sit down now." Obviously, the boy had no choice.

In reply, the boy gave a brisk nod and walked past Alfred to take a seat. Alfred caught sight of silver studs and a silver chain, along with the slight, bitter scent of cigarettes.

"That's good." Alfred said, stretching a fresh pair of white gloves over his hands. "You cooperating makes this easier for both of us."

The boy gave a wry smile in response. Now that he was closer, Alfred noticed that his hands were shaking, though his eyes were guarded and revealed nothing but blankness.

"Now, hold still." Alfred fastened the black nylon strips around the boy's arms and legs, effectively pinning him to the table. He then picked up a needle from the countertop near the examination table and held it in his hand.

"Are you going to knock me out?" The boy asked, his voice barely wavering.

"No," Alfred replied. "I have to keep you awake during the whole procedure. It's the law. This needle just numbs the pain."

"That's good, I suppose." He winced slightly as the needle went into the skin of his arm.

"I hate needles." he said, as way of explanation.

"Really? I wouldn't have known it. You're being really brave."

The boy gave a shaky laugh. "Sure doesn't feel like it."

Alfred hummed in response. "You'd be surprised at how much people panic at this stage."

"And are you allowed to knock them out?"

"No. Makes operating on them difficult, but what can you do? At least the restraints keep them more or less in place."

The boy gave a slight, awkward nod. There was silence for a few moments. "Are you required by law to tell me what you're doing to me?"

Alfred laughed. "No, but I can if you like."

"That'd be great, thanks." he replied, a trace of bitter sarcasm lacing his words. Alfred didn't pay it any mind. It was a nice change from the usual death threats and temper tantrums.

"The anesthetic should be kicking in now. I'm going to start taking apart your feet, by unraveling the skin tissue."

The boy nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose."

"You seem like a bright kid," Alfred commented.

He took a deep, shaky breath. "Not really. I mean, my parents sent me for money, so obviously I couldn't have been that intelligent. Heck, they would have sent me anyway... I come from a big family, and money's tight."

"Does that mean you knew all along you were going to come here?" Alfred asked curiously.

The boy shrugged. "I guess. I probably should have done better in school," he gave a bitter laugh, "But, you know, I did my best to live my life, so that's good."

"How old are you now?"

"Fifteen. I guess if I hadn't done some of the things I did my parents would have sent me here later, but it's better than waiting and being uncertain. Name's Arthur, by the way."

Alfred nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. He couldn't help but feel a shred of pity for the guy. From the way he was spilling his soul, he probably hadn't had many people listen to him seriously before. Then again, it could always have been a reaction to the fact that he was about to die.

"That's a positive way to look at it," Alfred said sagely. He finished with the feet and placed them onto a cart. Arthur visibly winced.

"Don't worry, you still have several hours before you'll be completely unwound," Alfred said soothingly. It wouldn't do for Arthur to freak out now, not when he was doing so well.

Arthur chuckled again in response, and Alfred frowned. The laughers tended to get on his nerves, especially when their voices raised into a wavering, insanely high pitch. _It always starts with those _annoying_ chuckles_, Alfred thought with a mental sigh.

"A few more hours of life? And that's a good thing? That's pretty rich."

"You won't die after being unwound, you'll just be...," Alfred paused, weighing his words, "Scattered."

"Into a million pieces, yeah," Arthur replied sarcastically. "I won't be able to control my own individual parts anymore. Hell, I probably won't even be able to feel them."

"Well," Alfred said as started unwinding the skin of Arthur's left hand, "People debate a lot about whether unwinding is similar to death or not. It's nice to have your own opinion."

"I guess. I wonder if it'll really be worse than death, like some people say."

"Personally? I don't think so. At least your parts will be used to help other people."

"I guess." Arthur sighed. "You know, I... I thought about committing suicide, before coming here."

"Oh?" Alfred finished with his left hand,placed it on the cart, and moved around the table, beginning to work on the right one.

"Yeah. I didn't do it." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Obviously. I was too much of a coward."

"I don't think you're a coward for deciding to help people. It's a better alternative than dying for yourself, and not helping anyone."

"That's the thing though," Arthur said, and Alfred noticed his eyes were now brimming with unshed tears. "I could have killed myself, as an act of defiance. Showed people that teenagers won't stand for unwinding, that it is a fate worse than death."

"People have done that in the past. It didn't exactly work."

Alfred drew back, looking over his checklist briefly. Arthur seemed healthy enough, and the only special precaution was that his lungs, black with years worth of smoke, were practically unusable. They would have to be put in a special storage area for discounted products.

"Thanks. For comforting me, I guess." Arthur said, and Alfred smiled warmly in return.

He had never before seen such expressive eyes. Alfred was reminded of the time he had helped his brother Matthew pick out jewelry for his girlfriend's birthday, and the store clerk had called the yellowish-green stones on that golden bracelet 'light olivino'. He had thought it was ridiculous, that they insisted on giving such pretentious names to describe colours, of all things, but now his opinion had changed. He knew that if he wanted to come even close to describing the different tints, the shade, of Arthur's 'green' eyes, he would need very one of those long, fancy labels in the dictionary, and maybe a few more.

"You're welcome."

"Done for the day?" Gilbert asked, leaning against the doorframe of the operation room.

Alfred placed the last of his sharp, silver surgical tools into the sterile white cabinet, locking it with an air of finality. It was finally closing time, and after Arthur, he had had to unwind several other patients. Their conversations had seemed... lackluster in comparison.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, come on then," Gilbert smiled widely, flashing his teeth. He had replaced his original tobacco-stained set for a brilliant, almost blindingly white one. "Let's go get a drink. It's been a long day."

"Sounds good to me." Alfred walked towards him, cracking his neck. "Ugh. Remind me again why I chose a career in the science field."

Unbidden, the image of Arthur's eyes popped into his mind, as muddled and unfocused as they had been when Alfred had lifted them from his face. Even then, Alfred had never before seen such a striking colour.

"Hey, don't expect me to have all the answers. I'm the most awesome security guard that ever was, but I know jack squat about science. Bores me to death."

Alfred laughed. "Sometimes I feel the same way."

For a moment, there was only the sound of their feet clicking on the shiny tiles, basking in the comfortable silence of friendship.

"You know, I'm thinking about replacing my eyes," Alfred said thoughtfully.

"About time!" Gilbert shoulder bumped him playfully. "You won't need those boring glasses anymore. And maybe you can even get a pair almost as awesome as my own."

Alfred laughed at the memory of Gilbert with his biological brown eyes. Looking back on it, they hadn't suited him at all.

Alfred placed his glasses on the bathroom countertop, hesitating. He had no need of them anymore, and yet a sentimental part of him was telling him to keep them.

Well, he wasn't sentimental. That was one thing he had definitely learned from his career.

Alfred picked them up again, grasping them in his fist, the delicate metal frames bending from the pressure. He dropped them in the trash, reveling in the clanging sound they made as they hit the bottom. He turned back to face the mirror.

His face stared back at him, his strong jawbone and straw-blonde hair as familiar as ever. The main difference were the- no, his eyes..

They were a brilliant emerald, clear and deep and rich. And yet, when he tilted his face to the side, they didn't capture the light in the way he had remembered. In a way they were flat, dead, and lifeless, perhaps the same as their original owner.

Alfred started in the mirror, harder, wishing he could change what he was no doubt that they were beautiful, but...

They had looked much better when they hadn't belonged to him.

They had looked much better on Arthur Kirkland.


End file.
